


worship

by tenuis



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Idiots in Love, Pining, Shameless Smut, UST to RST, but ultimately very sexy, depictions of anxiety not at all autobiographical no sir, kinda mushy in places, post Humbug, unparalleled amount of eye contact, you could argue there is some plot to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenuis/pseuds/tenuis
Summary: in which workplace crushes evolve into something else entirely.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 19
Kudos: 109





	1. him

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Long-Standing Curiosity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23738500) by [OnlyTheInevitable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyTheInevitable/pseuds/OnlyTheInevitable). 



> this begun as just another addition to the omnipresent trope of Mulder’s big schlong—it’s canon to me at this point—but it grew on me. i know this has been done to death, i don't care. 
> 
> inspired by the wonderfully sexy A Long-Standing Curiosity and many, many other equally filthy stories. 
> 
> i am my own beta, and on top of that just a foreigner dabbling in the intricacies of the English language. any grammatical aberrations are entirely my fault.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fox Mulder is a remarkable man.

It’s safe to say Dana Scully has a crush on Fox Mulder: coworker, best friend and G-man extraordinaire. It’s been slow going, this infatuation of hers, building gradually over the course of their two-year acquaintance. It snuck up on her and, as of today, it hit her with a rather potent blow.

“Imagine going through your whole life looking like that,” the impossibly odd Doctor Blockhead had said earlier, pointing at Mulder, and Scully had looked at him then. Standing tall in all his beautiful, lanky glory, little wisps of brown hair glistening in the sunlight, olive skin so beckoning to her eyes. That was where it hit her for real. _My God, I do have a crush on him_.

Her startled realization has stayed with her all the way through their ride to the airport. She pretends to be dozing, and that’s not at all difficult; her head is miles away anyway, thoughts sort of floating aimlessly, hitting the same bullet points over and over:

  * _how did this happen so quickly_
  * _how did I not notice it sooner,_ and
  * _why does it fluster me so_



Scully has answers to all of these. First of all, two years is not _quickly_ ; it’s actually quite a long time, considering she never saw herself staying at the X-Files for longer than six months. Her original intent had been: _write a fancy report debunking this dude and jump up the ladder_.

But.

Mulder had her charmed instantly with his crazy smarts and single-minded determination. The baffling nature of their investigations has struck a chord with her, both as a scientist and as a human being with steadfast morals who wants nothing more than bring justice to this awful world. Every new case is a challenge she’s eager to take up on, and her and Mulder, opposites in all things, make one hell of an investigative team.

Secondly, she did notice. She noticed the moment she walked into that basement. She noticed the unmistakable twinkle of intelligence in Mulder’s eyes under those big round glasses, his rapid wit, his mysterious turns of phrase. He was totally trying to scare her off at Bellefleur though, deliberately hiding information from her—his own partner—, and shutting her down in very condescending ways every time she dared to make a suggestion. Just being outright rude. That had put a damper on her fascination with him, and Scully immediately forbade herself to indulge in any racy thoughts about Fox Mulder.

But it didn’t take long for things to change. After their conversation in that motel room, Mulder had quickly learned that he could confide in her; the shock of being handed the full weight of his trust was overwhelming to her, and she could feel his magnetism drawing her closer and closer to him, as strong and mystifying as anything she’s ever felt. And his absolute devotion to find Scully while she was taken away, made known to her only by wide-eyed accounts of her mother and sister, cemented their now unshakeable bond.

With every crack of a sunflower seed between his teeth, with every bizarre idea that left his lips, she found herself spiraling further and further down a black hole of attraction and denial.

Sparing a glance at Mulder, sitting quietly in the driver’s seat, she knows why she’s so flustered. Never in her life has she been so respected by a man, one of her peers no less. Every man that’s ever been in her life has treated her either as a child or a hindrance. Sometimes a combination of the two. Mulder treats her as an equal, as a perfectly strong, skilled and resourceful partner.

As a friend. Perhaps even his best friend.

Scully never thought that a sentiment as simple as respect could be so alluring. Maybe she’s never truly been respected, and the novelty of it astounded her into this awkward little puppy love she was now experiencing. Maybe it’s the way he challenges her, always with a teasing smirk, a bold waggle of his eyebrows; and oh, how she loves a challenge. Mulder confronts her science, her religion, her philosophy, every rational value she thought she held dear—all he has to do is say, “wanna hear my theory?” and every one of her beliefs would be flipped on its axis.

Or maybe it’s just the respect of _this_ particular man that entices her. His unwavering support, his attentiveness, and his eyes.

Man, those eyes.

Whenever Mulder turns to Scully and lands that mossy green gaze on her, it’s like she can truly experience telepathy. It’s unexplainable, non-quantifiable, how they can have full conversations just by looking at each others’ faces. She’s never had that kind of chemistry with anyone.

She tries to sneak one more look at Mulder when they get to the airport parking lot. He looks back at her, smiling at the undoubtedly foolish look on her face.

_Damn, he’s attractive._

-x-

He _is_ attractive. But she absolutely does _not_ let her brain go there, because that line of thought really is dangerous. She doesn’t listen intently to his soft voice at the check-in counter, doesn’t stare at his perky bottom on their way to the gate.

It’s midnight and they’re both tired, but when they settle down on their economy seats she forces herself to stay busy—organizing receipts, scribbling annotations, rereading case files for the millionth time—anything to keep her mind off the silly crush she’s developed on the man sat beside her. Right after takeoff all overhead lights in the plane are out except for hers. She asks him, “do you mind?” and she thinks she hears him mumble, “nah,” and soon enough, he’s snoring softly, long legs spread out miserably on the cramped aisle seat.

After several minutes, she huffs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of her nose. Deeming her efforts pointless, she shoves everything back into her briefcase, resigning herself to two plus hours of mindless daydreaming. She’s so tired, and his sleeping form looks so inviting, surely it wouldn’t make her a complete asshole to just… look. A little bit.

Would it?

She shuts her light and settles on her side, watching him. Lets her eyes rake over his features in the dim ambient lighting, once, twice. Minutes pass. His relaxed expression fills her with relief; he survives every day on such little sleep, she doesn’t understand how he’s able to function at all. She knows he needs every minute’s rest he can get.

She looks at his lips, parted and plump. His jaw, darkened with that fatigued stubble. His tie is gone, she saw him thrusting it angrily inside his coat pocket earlier; the first few buttons of his shirt are open, exposing a tiny tuft of his chest hair.

As her eyes travel down and down, she almost begins to feel the pull of sleep on her exhausted body. His chest, breathing so slowly, his stomach rising imperceptibly…

Scully fancies herself a true professional at her job—at least a lot more so than Mulder with his lock picking and trespassing of private property. She’s calm and collected, and prides herself at being totally unfazed by danger. She can deal with anything thrown her way.

But she cannot deal with _this_.

Her eyes, reaching their inevitable destination on their way down, startle open and any hopes she had of falling asleep are stunted immediately.

Her scientific mind quickly scrambles up an explanation for what’s happening. It’s his blood pressure evening out while being on high altitude; nothing more than an automatic response to the conditions of their environment.

But she can’t look away, she can’t blink, she can’t do nothing but stare unabashedly. Her eyes must be bulging out of their orbits.

He’s really hard, tenting his loose slacks obscenely. _And he’s hung as all hell._

Sheer surprise keeps her eyes glued to him. As if sensing her gaze, Mulder shifts his hips slightly in his sleep, and his cock twitches inside his pants. Her mouth gapes open. She takes a quick peek at his face to check if he’s really sleeping, and feels a sudden rush of shame burning her cheeks for intruding so brazenly on his privacy.

Scully tells herself it’s only scientific curiosity that forces her eyes down to take him in one last time, unconsciously carving this picture in her mind forever. She can see the ridge of his thick head pressing tightly against the material of his trousers, his entire member bending slightly from its confinement. He’s a two-hander, that’s for sure.

Well, two of _his_ hands. Probably three of hers. Or more.

Holy shit.

It suddenly occurs to her that Mulder, sat with his legs wide open like that, on the aisle seat nonetheless, is doing very little to keep his dignity intact. Even though he’s asleep, and all the other passengers most likely are too, she feels the need to spare him from any embarrassment. Or spare _her_ from having to stare at his crotch for the rest of the flight.

So she grabs his coat under his seat from where he’d shoved it earlier, and very very delicately covers his legs. Her brow is peppered with sweat when she drapes the coat over him, and she’s so nervous that her hands are trembling.

Once she has (somewhat) successfully hidden him from view, she snaps her hands away to get this over with already, but his tent is pitched a bit higher than she had gauged, and in the commotion she manages to smack her fingers on his bulge a little too harshly.

He wakes with a start, and his hand snatches her wrist, gripping hard enough to bruise. Scully gasps, mortified, and very slowly lifts her eyes to meet his.

His breathing is labored; whether if it’s in shock or something else, she can’t tell. They stare into each others’ eyes for an infinite amount of time. His gaze is burning on hers, as it’s always been, but this time it’s unbearable. She looks down at his hand, still gripping her wrist in a white-knuckle grip, and licks her bottom lip, releasing a shaky breath.

He lets her go as if he’s been burned. “Sorry,” he whispers. His voice brings a new flush of embarrassment to her face, and she’s happy for the darkness of the plane. She squints down at her watch. Two hours to D.C.

-x-

Scully never looks at him again the rest of the night. When they land, he very sweetly offers to drive her home, but she panics and all but sprints to the nearest taxi.

When she gets home, she’s so drained and frustrated that the only thing she can do is chuck her clothes bitterly across the room and toss herself onto the bed.

She gets under the covers and masturbates in a frenzy, biting down hard on her bruised wrist when she comes.

-x-

Scully takes the weekend to compose herself after the frankly immature disappearing act she pulled on poor Mulder after The Flight. In capital letters, because she knows she’s never forgetting that fatidic event.

It’s no use denying or stifling how she feels for him now, she reasons. Mulder is simply the most unique man she has ever known. Scully now realizes that she’s been increasingly enamored of him since the first day they met, and the only reason why she treated that whole ordeal in the plane with so much embarrassment is precisely that same denial, that pointless repression of her feelings that’s always been second nature to her, preventing her from assessing the situation with a clear head.

It’s so simple, really. She fancies her friend. It’s such a common experience, it’s happened to millions of people all over the world, countless times. And if he just so happens to be outrageously handsome, oh well; she is his friend after all. He most likely won’t chastise her for appreciating his (extremely) healthy figure.

Scully feels really proud of herself Monday morning, after successfully managing that little crisis. Walking into their office, she sees Mulder, feet propped up on his desk, eyes glazed over and hands fidgeting absent-mindedly with a pencil sharp enough to spear through granite.

When he sees her, his demeanor immediately shifts from apparently relaxed to obviously uncomfortable. Given her behavior when she scurried away from him at the airport, she reckons he must be second-guessing himself to death. He tends to do that.

His feet whip out from over the desk and he straightens his back, even shifting the knot on his tie a little. So cute. It bums her out that she’s the one who caused him all this uneasiness, though, and she tries not to think about him obsessing over their awkward interlude through the whole weekend. She gives him her most saccharine smile to smooth things over, the very rarest of treats; but he deserves it. “Good morning, partner. How’d your weekend go?”

His face brightens up instantly in response, and all is well. Words aren’t really necessary when it comes to the two of them, as they both know. “Well, Scully, you know me. I’m such a party animal, they just can’t drag me away from that fervent D.C. nightlife,” he deadpans, rising from his chair to make them both some coffee.

“If by ‘nightlife’ you mean staying up ‘til the crack of dawn watching the entire works of Ed Wood, you seriously need to update your lexicon, Mulder. Or get out of your apartment once in a blue moon.” While he’s fiddling away with the coffee machine, she gets a lovely view of his ass and lets herself ogle him a bit.

“Ah, Scully but you know I don’t need much to have a good time. A couple movies, a couple beers. I can enjoy myself just fine.” He turns to face her then, propping his hip on the counter and crossing his arms, tapping the pencil rhythmically against his forearm.

Scully lingers her gaze below his waist for a split second, trying not so discreetly to sneak a peek at the goodies, but unfortunately she’s not so lucky this time. She feels a rush of sympathy for his typical choice of very loose-fitting slacks, though. Scully is in such a generously playful mood today, so she lets her gaze travel slowly up his body in a very uncharacteristic display of suggestiveness. The room is quiet, his pencil counting the passing beats like a metronome.

Their eyes lock. His, uncertain but very much interested. Hers, hooded and glinting with amusement.

She turns on her computer and goes to work, a tiny smirk on her lips. “A couple movies, huh? I bet you can enjoy yourself, Mulder.”

-x-

The day progresses in high spirits and cheeky banter, and it’s almost as if there was never any awkwardness between them at all.

But ever since that damn night, there’s been a constant hum under her skin, an itching curiosity clawing its way to the surface. She finds herself staring at certain parts of his body longer and longer, when she thinks he’s not looking.

She also finds she doesn’t really mind if he’s looking or not.

Summoned by A.D. Skinner, the two of them prance over to the crime lab to give some expert insight on a gooey substance that’s been found at a crime scene. It’s amusing to her that, for all the ridicule and disrespect they face from the Bureau every day, it only takes some unidentified gunge or an elusive psycho killer for the higher-ups to come crawling at their feet for help.

She lags a little behind while they walk—nothing unusual about that, his legs are already freakishly long anyway—and very surreptitiously steals glimpses of his broad back, the swagger of his stride, the hypnotizing roll of his butt inside those tailored pants. Normal Dana would twist her nose at this kind of behavior, but her weekend of reflection has given her plenty reasons for her to keep indulging in this harmless appreciation of her partner.

What she won’t really admit to herself yet is that she’s dying to have another look at him all hot and bothered. Before The Flight, she doesn’t recall ever catching even an inkling of an erection. It disappoints her a little—and by now, to be honest, she’s way past feeling like a perv.

So they get to the lab, young green technicians shuffling around nervously, all standing in a 2 meter radius from the both of them. Scully finds Mulder’s eyes and they share a smile. The perks of being spooky.

Scully examines the substance under the microscope, feeling Mulder’s stare on her the entire time. She huffs a laugh and he whispers privately, “what is it?”

“Well, I’d say it’s just animal fluids—urine, saliva, snot, sperm—mixed in together with tire shavings, all of that gunk melting under the heat of the sun and fusing together, sticking to the asphalt and making the organic materials imperceptible for the untrained eye.” At this, Mulder smirks. “Judging by the color, I’d say there’s some sawdust mixed in there too. Remember, Mulder, the—“

“Edward Moch case, yes. Middle of the summer in South Carolina. We found that same stuff all over the crime scene. Turns out it was just a hot spot for stray dogs getting their freak on.”

Scully snorts and rolls her eyes. “Is there anything else we can help you guys with?” She asks the technicians in an exasperated tone, and they all shake their heads vigorously, as if willing the both of them telepathically to leave their alcove and never return.

As soon as the lab door closes behind them, Mulder starts giggling. “What the hell was that? It’s like they were actually scared of us or something. I should’ve done that trick with my eyelids, you know the one—that woulda really freaked them out.”

Scully frowns disapprovingly. “All I can think about is the sheer incompetence of government employees. I mean it can’t be that hard to spot dehydrated protein under a microscope, can it?” She sighs in disdain. “I swear to God, these young little agents are getting dimmer every year.”

They reach the elevator doors, and Mulder punches the down button a couple of times. “Geez, Scully. And here I was wondering what frightened them so bad. You’re intimidating as hell when you talk like that.”

Scully’s head snaps around to find Mulder sporting a lopsided smile, evidently very pleased with himself. “Especially,” he continues, “when you’re not that old and seasoned yourself.”

Her blood boils with indignation and some other unmentionable heat down below. _What the hell_ , she thinks flippantly. _I’ll bite_.

She lowers her voice to a sweet croon. “Age ain’t nothing but a number, Mulder. You know just how capable and knowledgeable I am.”

The elevator doors open, the cart is empty. They walk in and once the doors close again, she finds his face intensely reading her expression. She leans in close, closer than they’ve ever been, and he licks his lips unconsciously. Feeling her breath ricocheting off his mouth, she finally whispers, “I think you’ll find there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

She leans back against the railings, feeling smooth and smug as hell, and smirks up at his stunned expression. He hangs his head down and chuckles slightly, and they make the rest of their journey to the basement in silence.

The stupidity of their impromptu consulting session and the annoyance it brought out in her have dissipated instantly after her and Mulder’s little exchange in the elevator. She sits down at her chair and crosses her legs tightly, thinking of his wet lips and long lashes. She glances at him and sees his head turn quickly away, tan cheeks glowing ever-so-slightly. And when she looks down at his slacks, there it is. Her Holy Grail.

A moderate amount of blood flow on his nether regions award her with such a pretty view of his cock, she has to bite her lip. He’s not fully erect, but not half-limp either. She can just about make out the outline of his flesh, gorgeously swollen and curving to the side.

In her peripheral vision, she sees him turning his head back towards her, but she can’t stop looking at him just yet. Sucking hard on her lip, she allows their eyes to meet once again; and although his face is adorably flushed, his eyes are anything but demure.

-x-

Through the next couple of weeks, they never mention The Night Where She Touched His Dick or The Day Where She Ogled His Chub, but the tension sure is there. His looks linger a little more, his flirtations just a touch more biting. Her inhibitions have lowered substantially, so she lets him do and say whatever.

If she’s being honest with herself, she’s really enjoying this dance of theirs. She likes catching his eye and watching him look away; she loves maintaining her stern façade, lifting her eyebrow at his witticisms and inquisitive looks. It gives her a little tingle when she’s in control.

She loves how this new predicament has brought Feisty Dana back again into her life, after what seems like such a long time. The thrill of the chase, the games of cat and mouse, flirting and the anticipation it entails. It’s refreshing to have Mulder at her mercy. It’s absolutely thrilling to see the effect she has on him, the reactions she gets. A well timed lick of her lips, or a sway of her hips when she walks? Cause and effect, right as rain: any one of these actions is sure to evoke a response. She wants to see him blush. She wants to see him smile in that sweet way he does when he’s complimented. She wants his green eyes to penetrate her soul.

She really, _really_ wants to see him hard again.

The image of his dick, hard as a rock in the hazy light of her memory feels like a revelation to her. She feels wired, on edge all the damn time she’s in his presence. It’s awakened something inside of her she didn’t even know was there. She was pretty adventurous in college, and she’s still prone to bouts of recklessness every once in a while; but Dana Scully, a _size queen_? The mere thought of the term feels cringy, and it’s not like she prefers larger penises in general. She has never, ever imagined herself lusting after someone so badly; and yet, she finds herself mesmerized, fascinated by this new impressive feature she’s found in her partner.

She shouldn’t be so surprised after all. It’s just _so_ Mulder to keep her on her toes, to keep playing this game of one-upmanship they’ve become so intimate with. She had never let her head go there before, but now that she’s given the matter some thought (and isn’t that an understatement), she knows she should have expected some other surprise to be in store for her.

Why _wouldn’t_ Fox Mulder be remarkable in every possible way? Now that’s a challenge she’s excited about.

-x-

A boring day of paperwork at the basement. Smoldering gazes over the desk. What else is new.

She can see what idleness does to him, how it makes him jittery and tense. She wants so bad to take another glimpse at him flustered and turned on; the picture in her mind is starting to wear thin—she needs to see the real thing again, no matter how furtively.

So she lets her eyes drift while he patters about the office and doesn’t say a word, under the semblance of typing a report. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him fiddle with the pile of files he’s got perched on a corner of the desk. Putting them in, and then back out of the cabinet. Squinting his eyes and scanning the room, trying his hardest to find something to focus on, other than what he obviously considers the most tedious part of his job.

It’s so endearing to her to see him restless and being kind of huffy and childish about it. It’s almost enough to make her forgive him for dumping months of expense reports on top of her shoulders and procrastinating his little heart out just so he doesn’t have to do any filing.

 _Almost_ enough.

“So, Mulder. You gonna waste any more time boring a hole through the carpet or are you going to come and help me with this?”

“Um, I don’t know. I was kinda hoping we could toss all that in the shredder and pray Skinner just forgets about it,” he replies stubbornly.

Insufferable. Irritating. But so, so amusing.

She’s got it bad.

The smile that spreads across her cheeks is involuntary. “I’ll be tossing your ass in the shredder myself if you don’t come help me right this second.”

Mulder tilts his head dangerously. “Strange. I was under the impression you were quite fond of my ass.”

Her whole body thrums with excitement. She wonders where this is heading, if they’re ready to push it past the point of no return.

He walks very deliberately to his chair and sits with his legs wide open, eyes on her the whole time. Well, he’s just asking for it.

“There’s a lot of you that I’m fond of,” she quips, staring him down.

His hands smooth over his thighs invitingly, flattening non-existent wrinkles, daring her to look. She doesn’t.

“Give me an example.”

“Nuh-uh, stop fishing. Your ego doesn’t need any more inflating.” He has the decency to look hurt for a second, and she stifles a laugh. “Why don’t you tell me what you like about me, and maybe I’ll tell you what I like about you.”

This back-and-forth feels so juvenile, like they’re high-schoolers flirting over lunch trays. It excites her to no end.

“Right.” His voice lowers heavily, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “You, Dana Scully, are the most professional person I’ve ever met. It’s always delightful to me when you spout scientific jargon like it’s nothing; when obscure medical references shoot from the tip of your tongue, as if your brain were an endless fountain of knowledge. I really, really like it when you argue with me, because you know I’m hopeless on my own and only you can make me come down from my selfish impulses with that reasonable voice of yours.”

That’s not at all what she was expecting, and she sits there gaping in bewildered silence for a second.

His eyes shift from hers to a few centimeters lower. “Also, you may just have the prettiest lips I’ve ever seen.”

She laughs out loud, infinitely pleased with his praise. She gets up and sits on the desk, right in front of him and his spread legs. Gazes at his body leisurely, from neatly coiffed head to expensively encased toe.

“You really wanna know what I like about you, Mulder?”

“Do tell,” he whispers.

“You’re so damn smart and insane, I swear to God you’re driving me insane too. I’m always impressed by your crazy hunches, and how they always seem to drive us in the right direction, somehow. I am a skeptic, but you might make a believer out of me yet.” His eyes are so full of affection that they make another smile burst out of her, unannounced. “I really like your bad jokes, too.”

His grin is bright with pride, and he looks stunning like this. It’s rare that she ever gets to see him genuinely happy, but the look suits him so well.

She honest-to-God _swoons_.

It strikes her that, for all his flirting and jesting, he’s not all that suave. She knows him well enough now to see that his apparent fishing for compliments is just a defense mechanism; he’s terribly insecure, and no amount of boyish charm can hide that from her. He carries so much guilt with him, so much misery, that she understands why he doesn’t feel so good about himself most of the time.

Maybe she’ll let herself inflate his ego a little bit.

Mulder is currently blushing like a schoolgirl, so she tips his chin up with her finger.

“I like your nose.” He grimaces immediately, and she presses on with intent, running her forefinger down his strong bone structure, “no, I do. It fits your face perfectly. I like your hair, the way it sticks out oddly in the mornings when I come knock on your door. I like your hands, how big they are and how they always settle on my back. Always protecting me. I appreciate that more than you know.” He brings his hand up to tuck an errant lock of her hair behind her ear.

She sighs earnestly, “and if my lips are pretty, yours are a masterpiece.”

The air between them is sparkling with electricity, none of them daring to make the first move. Their affectionate confessions have made her heart soft and she feels herself falling for him, hard. That particular thought brings gravity to the moment, so she bows her head.

And between his spread legs, she sees it again.

She stares at it for a while, and she knows he’s staring right back at her, and she can _see_ him getting harder, _God_ , and he’s biting his lip, puppy dog eyes turned up to eleven…

It’s all just so hard to resist. Feisty Dana takes the wheel and all responsibility and work ethic is thrown out the window.

She slides off the desk, between his parted thighs, and cups his cheek, brushing her thumb against his bottom lip, pulling it from his teeth and rubbing softly. “Masterpiece,” she whispers, and kisses him.

He groans into her mouth and pulls her down to his lap. Her thighs move on either side of his legs to straddle him, fastening their bodies together like two long-lost pieces of a puzzle. The rough slide of his hardness on her inner thigh makes her moan, and he seizes that opportunity to push his wet tongue into her mouth.

They kiss languidly, slowly, tasting each others’ breaths, and the glossy slide of their lips feels so perfect that it distracts her from her goal. His hands travel slowly to her ass, tickling so softly up her skirt, and then grab her suddenly, grinding her center hard onto his cock.

She whimpers, and he smirks up at her. “You like that?” He breathes. She nods frantically, pleasure running sharp through her body in a shudder. “Yeah,” he continues, still grinding her hips strongly against his. “I’ve noticed you staring, you know. Ever since you groped me on that plane.”

Her head shoots up. “That was an _accident_ ,” she fires at him, stabbing a finger on his chest.

He bursts out laughing, and buries his smile in her neck; the vibrations against her chest feel divine. He kisses and sucks his way to her ear, and her eyes flutter closed.

“But you liked what you saw, didn’t you?” He gives her ass another tight squeeze, grinding her clit right onto the hard ridge of his cock, scraping his nails down her cheeks. She moans loudly, surprising herself, and he shushes her with another wet kiss.

“Yeah,” she says, staring into his eyes. “Yeah, I did. So much.”

With that, she gets off his lap and kneels down between his legs, shooting him a hungry look from under her lashes. His eyes widen and, without breaking eye contact, she undoes his button, fly, and shoves his slacks down.

She finally looks down at his dick, painfully tight inside his white boxer briefs, and gasps. Right in front of her face it looks even bigger; she can see every vein, every curvy, beautiful ridge through the fabric. She reaches an eager hand to feel him. He’s hard like marble; she grabs him firmly, enjoying how he pulsates in her grasp.

She can do nothing but worship him, gaze at him in admiration, stroking him over his underwear. She can hear him panting above her, and when she looks up, his pupils are so dilated that he honestly looks drugged.

She then mouths his erection, frenching him through the fabric, up and down, up and down. The strangled moan he releases is high pitched, so beautiful that it floods her panties. She had been so concentrated on his pleasure that she didn’t even realize just how wet she is. She might start dripping down her thighs at any moment.

He cups her head gently, glances at the unlocked door and then back at her.

Scully gets up then, and in no hurry whatsoever, saunters to the door to lock it. When she turns back around, the sight in front of her is like nothing she’s ever seen.

Mulder has pushed his boxers all the way down to his ankles, and is leering at her exposed thighs, making her knees buckle. He’s stroking his cock so, so slowly, gripping it hard at the base and sliding up with a twist, gathering all that skin at his head and then stroking back down.

 _Holy Mother of Christ_. Scully moans out loud and falls back against the door, instantly shoving her hand up her skirt and fingering her entrance through the soaked fabric. He hisses loudly and adds another hand to his ministrations.

She’s entranced at the beautiful scene unraveling in front of her. Both of Mulder’s big hands, milking that massive cock so torturously slow; her cunt gushes and spasms with arousal, and she hikes her skirt up so that she can shove her hand inside her panties, circling her clit furiously.

“Come here, Scully,” he gasps out. “Please.”

She complies, and kneels back down between his legs. While he’s still stroking himself, she runs her hands up his hard thighs, under his dress shirt, scratching her nails lightly over his abdomen. His face is so contorted in pleasure, and his cock is so hard and red, she wants to put him out of his misery.

She sees him swipe precome with his thumb, and grabs his hand to suck it off his finger. She closes her eyes and swirls her tongue, reveling in his bittersweet flavor. He retrieves his finger and she feels his hands shaking as he cradles her face. Her eyes open, and his penis is right in front of her, ready for the taking. She eyes it up and down, delighted, and grabs him suddenly, firmly, with both of her hands.

He whines and she starts stroking, easy at first. His head is thrown back, his eyes shut. The sharp ridge of his jaw makes him look like a Greek statue. He’s stroking her cheek absently with his thumb, and Scully can’t remember ever feeling this crazed, ever feeling this much desire for any other man.

She’s so fucking turned on that it’s hard not to touch herself, so she does, blowing lightly on his oversensitive member to get his attention. His head groggily angles down to watch her. She takes her right hand and gathers up the moisture she’s releasing, losing herself in the sensation for a bit, grinding into her hand. So much wetness; her own desire and Mulder’s deep stare are making her dizzy. She takes her slickened palm and strokes it down his cock, head to base, greasing him up with her juices.

His mouth opens in an O of pleasure, and his dick spasms, hard. She’s so hungry for him, she wants to eat him whole, suck his skin from his mouth to his thighs. She’s _drooling_. She grips him with both of her hands and just hangs her mouth open over the head of his dick, letting saliva drizzle down his length, letting her heaving breaths cool his hot flesh. Finally, she takes his tip in her mouth and sucks softly, the wet sound of her lips echoing lewdly around their office.

She cannot describe the look on his face. It’s frightening in its intensity, and the sexiest thing she’s ever seen. His eyes won’t let hers budge away, and she presses her thighs together hard, bouncing slightly in some sort of unconscious show of what she really wants to do to him, trying desperately to relieve some pressure. Her tongue swirls around his crown, laps on his slit and slides down over to flick on the ridge where tip meets length.

She knows she won’t be able to take much of him into her mouth, but if the heavy panting and the scorching heat in his eyes is any indication, she doesn’t think he’ll mind much. So she glides her tongue up and down his length, tasting herself, wetting him further with her spit. He moans, long and low and hot as hell.

She does a thorough job of slicking him up, the sight and feel of him more than enough to make her salivate like a dog. Then she pauses, one thumb circling his head while her other hand cradles his balls.

“Scully, oh my God,” he breathes, stroking her face with the backs of his fingers. “Scully, come up here, please.” She shakes her head, licking her lips, and he starts thrusting slowly into her hand. “Oh, please, _please_ , I want to touch you.”

Those words alone could have made her come on the spot. “I want this,” she whispers. With that, she sucks his tip into her mouth and descends a few centimeters before sucking her way up again. “Ahhh,” Mulder moans, sharply, and both his hands move to comb back all of her hair through his long fingers, holding it in a ponytail inside his right fist. “Jesus, Scully, look at you,” he murmurs approvingly.

Looking into his eyes, she kisses his head teasingly, before going down again. With every downstroke, she takes more of him into her mouth, her tongue swiping around his length eagerly all the while. She closes her eyes, and concentrates on the job at hand. Her mouth speeds up a fraction, and the hands that were holding his cock and balls steady start stroking in tandem. She tugs gently on his sac with her left hand, and feels his testicles tightening up in time with his moans of pleasure. Her right fist is rubbing up and down the whole rest of his dick that she’s fighting to fit in her mouth, slicking him up with all the saliva she’s slobbering down his member.

His large hand on her hair has been gently guiding her movements up and down, following the rhythm she herself has set. The sinful sounds he’s making are driving her nuts. She’s convinced this is what heaven feels like.

She goes down until he hits the back of her throat, takes a deep breath through her nose, and goes further down, until she can’t fit in any more of him. She gets down to about half his length, which is a very respectable amount, and just stays there for a bit, letting her slippery tongue squirm snugly against his cock. His hand tightens painfully in her hair, and they both moan loudly in unison. He thrusts up a little and gags her, so she comes up for air, panting, back now to using both of her hands to stroke and gyrate all over him, precious and pink in her grasp.

He grips her head. “I’m so sorry,” he says. She can see that one vein pounding on his temple, and feels his heartbeat on his cock.

“It’s ok,” she laughs up at him. “You’re turning me on so much, Mulder, God,” she hisses and her hands speed up, and she looks at his dick again, not quite believing what she’s doing, how she got here, how good this feels.

“You’re so hot, Mulder.” She licks him from base to tip. “So big…” He grunts loudly and his hands rush to tug at his own hair, as if in desperation.

She’s ruined for everyone else. She wants to do this forever. She wants _him_ forever.

To have all this control over him is breathtaking. His hips are swaying up and down in an effort not to thrust furiously like she knows he wants to. “Fuck,” he moans continuously, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” His hands have now moved to hold the arms of his chair in a fierce grip, like he’s grounding himself. He looks so fucking sexy like this, and she tells him so.

He smiles lazily down at her. “I’m so close, Scully,” he whispers, “please, please…”

She seizes this moment of eye contact to take him into her mouth again, now going at it with gusto. Her hands stroke him quickly up and down, while her mouth nurses on his fat head deliciously, sloppily—so sweet and smooth, _just like a candy apple_ , she thinks with a groan. She watches his eyes and his lips and his eyebrows and his forehead, all dancing so exquisitely on his face; and she listens to his shameless moans, reaching towards a crescendo, and she milks his cock wildly until he crests with a broken sob.

She continues to suck and rub his dick while he comes, swallowing every pearly drop of white that spurts out of him. As his breathing gradually slows, so do her movements, and suckling softly on his tip, she finally rests him down on his thigh.

Her hands caress the soft hair on his thighs and they just stare at each other for a while. Her knees hurt like hell, and she’ll have to wear exclusively pants for a while to hide all that rugburn. Her throat is sore, and her jaw even more so. They’ve just defiled their office, and they’ll have a lot to talk about later, about what this means, about where they stand.

Right now, she doesn’t give a shit.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mulder, but I kinda have a crush on you,” she manages to throat out.

He laughs heartily. “God, Scully, me too. I’m crazy about you.”

She lets her cheek rest on his thigh, and gives it a little kiss. His softening cock is still a force to be reckoned with, though, and twitches, bumping her on the nose.

She snickers. “Somebody else is crazy about me.”

He looks at her very seriously. “Don’t say it like you don’t love it. Scully, damn, I never knew you had it in you. That was so fucking hot what you just did,” he says, sounding more impressed by her than she is by him.

“Well, I think I could do a better job.” She eyes his member, remarkably sized even soft. She gazes into his eyes again. “If I had more practice.”

He bends down and kisses her hard, sealing the deal. “You can have all the practice you want. But you’re already perfect to me.”


	2. her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he worships the ground she walks on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this might read a little angstier than the first chapter but that's how i see mulder i guess. also i like to make them giggle and smile a lot because they deserve it and don't get to do that enough on the show
> 
> once again, any odd word choices are my fault.

It’s safe to assume Fox Mulder is hopelessly in love with his partner-in-crime—or partner-in-law, as the case may be—Dana Katherine Scully.

Soon after Skyland Mountain, immediately after _they_ ’d taken her, he realized just how important she had become to him. Just how much he missed her sound advice, her reassuring presence, the comfort of her company. How he confided in her strength, how he was sure that she would always have his back, always save his ass from the inevitable danger of whatever stupid, risky hunch he was nosediving into.

It was, and is, love. Plain and simple.

He has never denied it to himself, despite what other people may think. The fact that he loves Scully is sharp and sure in his heart; he is as certain of it as the sun will rise tomorrow. She is the best partner, and friend, Mulder has ever had.

It was only after she came back that he began _wanting_ her.

The anxiety of having been away from Scully for so long bled into a strong need to be near her, to protect her; it was a renewed sense of attachment that he couldn’t fight back if he wanted to. It became compulsory to him—placing his hand on her back, walking close by, or searching for her eyes every once in a while in a crowded room.

Like a Catholic mother fingering her cross. Like he used to finger Scully’s cross while she was gone.

Getting so close and letting their lives become more and more intertwined every day started to have an effect on him. Being in her intellectual and physical proximity was addictive, intoxicating. He began to notice so many little details about her personality; like the amusement in her eyes when she thinks he’s being awfully funny and tries to hide it from him—that feels as exhilarating as any bark of laughter ever could. Or the hard set of her shoulders whenever he gets too cocky and she needs to rein him in so they don’t get strangled by small town sheriffs.

Or even the subtle but sinister way her voice deepens whenever she needs to prove herself to their male peers—stupid brutes, the whole lot of them. It makes him want to shout in their faces how much they pale to her in every single way. She’s the very embodiment of intelligence, sheer bravery and virtue, and nobody in the whole damn Bureau compares to Dana Scully.

He also started to notice some other intricate details about her. The starry freckles barely visible under her thin layer of makeup. The delicate bones of her fierce hands shifting when she leafs through a file. The uneven contour of her plump upper lip curling around the words that float out of her mouth, pulling him to bob woozily in her orbit.

The dreams he usually had about Scully started to change, then. Normally, in his nightmares, he’d be running and running and running, and getting to the top of that mountain, and she would be gone, and he’d wake up with his heart in his mouth.

One day, the dream shifted, and he was running and running and he got to the top of the mountain, but she was there. Luminous, bewitching as ever. He hugged her so tightly, drowned in her blue eyes, ran his hands over her arms, her back, her face, her hair.

When he finally bent his head down and kissed her, Mulder bolted awake in his cold bedroom, his heart in his mouth now for a completely different reason; his dream so vivid he could feel Scully’s lips against his still.

-x-

The thing is, Mulder thinks she is miles out of his league. She’s got brains and looks to kill, while he’s kind of a lonely loser. Although their verbal sparring always leaves him giddy and wanting more, her eyebrow never fails to let him know who’s really in charge. _Don’t go there, Mulder_ , it tells him. He knows she doesn’t take his flirting seriously, why would she?

He’s not very kind about his sorry ass most of the time, but her easy camaraderie frees him from much of the self-consciousness he carries around like a sack full of rocks. With her by his side, he’s not as tense, as wired as he once was—a lifetime ago, before _Scully_. He can joke freely and be his own spooky self without ever fazing her, and even getting a smile every once in a while. And just for that, he is immensely grateful.

So he relishes those moments where he can lean in and whisper secretly in her ear about whatever silly monster-of-the-week they’re discussing. He maps her face with his eyes, stores in his eidetic memory every expression and slope and blemish; he maps her compact figure, her strong calves, her tiny waist.

He wonders what kind of Time Lord technology she’s built in, that such enormous a soul can fit inside so little a body.

She’s the only person he ever wants to be around anymore, and he doesn’t even try to disguise his neediness now; he calls her in the middle of the night just to hear her voice, and pops by on the weekends to “throw something by her,” when really he just wants to watch her face do that amused-slash-exasperated thing it does so frequently. He cherishes it, and _her_ , so damn much.

And he dreams about her. She’s in his mind all the time anyway, it’s no wonder she’s always in his dreams too. In the rare nights he manages to shut down the restlessness in his brain and go to sleep, they share words, thoughts, sighs, moans. When he wakes up, hard and alone, his hand finishes the job. He could feel pathetic about it, but what else is there for him to do? How else is he supposed to get this woman out of his head?

Does he even _want_ to get her out of his head?

His tapes and mags have started to feature a lot more redheads lately. But no one needs to know about that.

-x-

Then they get on a plane from Tampa to D.C.

That whole case—watching her beautiful face squinting in the Florida sun, Scully being her badass self with her red lips and her eating insects—it was just too much, and it got him all kinds of worked up. By the time they boarded the plane, he was so worn out he just wanted to go home and get some peace. By whatever (manual) means necessary.

He didn’t even remember dozing off, but just as his head was conjuring up Scully’s body, her hair brushing over her naked shoulders, her smooth ivory back leaning down to expose her—

He felt a sharp smack of pain on his dick, and his brain raced in a fraction of a second to take in his surroundings:

He had just been dreaming about naked Scully.

He was hard as he could be inside his pants.

It was Scully’s hand he felt against him.

Scully was staring down at his hard-on with wide, unblinking eyes.

Without thinking, he snatched Scully’s wrist, and looked at her face, desperately trying to read her expression, but coming up blank. Meeting the strange look in her eyes, his heart swirled around every negative emotion known to humankind—panic, dread, self-hatred—and Scully’s gaze was the only thing that could have brought him down to earth. So he just stared at her, throat constricted through the apprehension clouding his senses, hoping that she would provide him with sweet friendly reassurance like she usually does.

Except this time she didn’t, and when she looked away he realized he still had such a violent grip on her wrist that it was probably going to leave a really ugly mark on her pale skin. As if he needed anything else to kick himself over.

He couldn’t even bring his voice to say “sorry” properly, and she didn’t look at him again for the rest of the night, leaving him to stew in his shame, erection wilting sadly like a dead flower.

He sped through that weekend on a blur of 10-mile runs, basketball at the Y and muted porn on his television, anything to relieve him of the nervous energy running through his bloodstream. He didn’t even try to jerk off, unbelievable as it may seem—as soon as he touched his dick, he was brought back to Scully’s expression after _she_ had touched it, and goddamn. Even his profiler wits couldn’t figure that one out.

She looked… he didn’t know what she looked like. He blames the darkness. Or maybe the fog of his crippling anxiety. Scared? Not likely. Embarrassed? Possibly.

Turned on? He mulls on that attractive idea for a while, but forcibly pushes the thought away. Nah.

-x-

The sweet reassurance he was starving for came in through the basement door 8AM sharp Monday morning, chipper with a smile and a skip in her walk.

He could have passed out from the huge flood of relief that washed through him at that very moment, her anxiolytic voice and eyes snapping him back to the real world, where he was just being silly and everything’s fine.

But then he turned his back to make them coffee and hide his idiotic smile, and when he turned back around she was staring at his ass. And then at his crotch. And not looking away.

Once again, his brain snapped into reality, and now he realizes what that stunned expression of hers in the plane was all about. Scully’s gaze slid up his body like a caress, and his body felt so warm he could swear he was on fire.

Turned on indeed.

Without a stern eyebrow to scold him for his teasing, he felt himself growing bolder—among other things—in face of her flirtatiousness. And just as he thought that blessed Monday could not be going any better, she very obviously came on to him in an empty elevator, just to watch him squirm.

And, apparently, to watch _something else_ as well. He popped a boner in record speed, the feel of her breath on his lips making his skin prickle and his cheeks burn. And when she glared at his arousal with hot investigative eyes, he felt like a lab rat. In the most wonderful way possible, of course.

-x-

It never made him feel like a hot stud, his dick. At the very best it got him wide eyes from the one-night-stands he never had a habit of indulging in the first place. His past relationships weren’t very romantic or worshipful in that way—at least on their part. Phoebe and Diana, they fed off the intense attention he gave out so willingly, but never gave back a single complimentary word in return. If anything, having a big tool just made him feel more like a toy.

And then there was Scully.

He figured out her little game instantly. She’d lay it on real thick, be incredibly brash in a way he’d never seen before (but was growing to be so enamored of), and flick her eyes down, searching, like the good little scientist she is. Eye contact became ten times more loaded. Flirting wasn’t just for show anymore.

The confidence she inspired in him now transcended the realm of social ineptitude; he began to feel like a normal guy people wanted to talk to, sleep with. His objective attractiveness had been just theoretical to him before—he recognizes the symmetry of his face, the tightness of his muscles.

But nothing in Scully’s gaze says theoretical. The way she leers at his body, seemingly uncaring if he’s aware or not, stirs up a frenzy inside him like no woman has done before. She’s appreciative in a way his eager puppy personality craves like a drug—he’s always been a sucker for praise, and getting that praise from the prettiest, most intelligent, strongest woman he knows, _wow_. It makes him love her even more, if that was even possible. It makes him float like a happy little astronaut.

It makes him want to fuck her.

At night, he teases himself until he’s panting, leaking like a faucet. He looks down at himself, imagines giving it to her nice and slow like he so badly wants to. Oh, how he’d stretch her. What a workout it would be for her. And he knows she’d love every second of it.

He always comes at the exact same spot in his fantasy: she’s riding him hard, slick and hot, biting her lip like she does when she stares, fitting him inside so snugly it hurts them both.

After, when he slips into the peaceful slumber he hasn’t known for years, he thinks of making a move, of showing her the extent of his devotion to her; but that nagging voice in his head comes up with a thousand different ways he could fuck it all up. It’s always been an ongoing battle, his passionate heart and his scaredy brain.

But he’ll muster up the courage one day, he thinks. He won’t let this one go.

-x-

And now here he is, staring down at her pretty face, right after she sucked the very soul out of his body. O Scully.

He never wants to wake up from this dream, where the woman he loves more than himself showers him with sincere admiration, and proceeds to pay him tribute by giving the blowjob of a lifetime. O Scully.

He’s high, he’s crazy in love, and the FBI can go fuck themselves if they think he’s staying another minute in this stuffy basement filing paperwork.

So he kisses her. And kisses her and kisses her, with the intent of pulling back sometime but he just can’t bring himself to stop, and he has no idea for how long he’s been kissing her but she breaks away from him, breathing hard, holding his face in her hands. He knows she loves him, he _knows_ it, because he absolutely cannot mistake _that_ misty look in her eyes for anything else, and he’s a fucking psychologist, god damn it.

“Mulder… I—“

“Don’t say anything. I know you want this, and I want this too, Scully, so bad. Let me take you home and treat you right, Scully. Please.” He presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, and he loves how powerful it is the way their eyes always lock onto each other like magnets. He can’t get enough of that.

She laughs, and the sound tickles his ears like a windchime. She rises to her feet, skirt crinkled to oblivion, red hair crazy from having his messy hands all over it, makeup even crazier. He thinks she looks like an angel. “I’d like that. But let’s go to mine. Just let me fix myself up a bit so I don’t look like Cyndi Lauper’s sex tape.”

She’s off to the bathroom, and he’s sure his laughter follows her down the corridor. O Scully.

They make their escape lightning-fast, thankfully not running into anyone significant. Quite honestly, he couldn’t care less. Half the Bureau thinks they’re already doing it anyway.

The car ride back to her apartment is silent, but very comfortably so. His neck has a mind of its own and, through red lights and slight bits of traffic he finds himself unconsciously turning to her and just gazing. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and her fair, clean skin flushes adorably under his attention. _Yeah, see how I can make you blush now, woman._

He feels so weirdly calm. Usually in these situations where fate awards him with the best possible outcome, he’s always foreseeing disaster, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His life experiences so far have not given him any reason to quit that particular line of thought, and by now he’s used to his paranoia being a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But Scully gives him strength, as always. He knows they cannot mess this up. He loves her too much to let anything break their partnership; and if this doesn’t work, he’s happy to have just her by his side in simple friendship. But her eyes tell him this will be the easiest thing they’ve ever done.

They walk in, she locks the door. He turns to her and feels the sudden urge to hug her tight, so he does just that.

He feels her giggle. “What?” he asks.

“I thought we were having sex, Mulder.”

“We’ll get to it. Just wanna let you know what it means to me, is all.” He looks down at this tiny little woman, the hugest person he’s ever known.

“Yeah. We’re on the same page, I promise.” She smiles sweetly. “I know how you get. No need to overthink this.”

“Strangely enough, I’m really chill. This feels so right, Scully.” He doesn’t say he loves her yet— _take it easy_ , he thinks. Treat her right, give her space. There will be time for overtures in the future.

She takes his palm between her hands and kisses it, before leading him to her bedroom. Late afternoon streams through the blinds, making her hair shine impossibly bright, burning around her face like a summer bonfire. Once inside, he grabs her face and presses his lips to hers, calmly, lovingly. No rush.

“Did you know?” He asks her, curious.

She looks a little dazed for a moment, then scrunches up her face comically and asks, “know what?”

Matter-of-factly, “that I’ve got the world’s biggest crush on you.”

“Not really.”

Huh. “I mean, how could you have missed it? I thought I looked stoned whenever I was with you. I don’t even notice myself staring after you sometimes.”

She laughs again. It’s become his new favorite sound. “I thought that was just you being intense.”

He takes the plunge. “Oh, you have no idea how intense I can be.” He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close and grazing her neck with his lips and tongue, breathing in deeply.

She gasps, fingernails tickling the hair at his nape. “I’d love to find out.”

He lets his hands brush up her sides, over her back, tracing all the curves he had engraved in his mind a long time ago, but only now has been allowed to touch. He leaves her neck to get another fix at her mouth, devouring those luscious lips and tongue like he’s starved. And he is.

His fingers dance blindly along her hips until he finds the buttons of her shirt. Pulling on her bottom lip with his teeth, he tucks the fabric out of her skirt, begins unbuttoning slowly. Scully gets the memo and starts undressing him as well; but she’s obviously in a much bigger hurry than he is, her hands undoing his tie and pulling at his shirt faster than he can take a breath.

“Whoa,” he chuckles, “you’re excited.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am. Off with these, come on,” she moves to rip his shirt open, but he lifts her arms away from his body gently.

“Hey. Slow down, Scully. I wanna take my time with you,” he whispers and kisses her mouth lazily. She relaxes in his arms with a sigh, pressing her hands up his chest, scratching softly up his scalp. He shivers from the top of his head to the head of his cock.

“I want you so bad, Mulder…” she breathes shakily, trying to snake a leg up his hip but her skirt and her height won’t let her. He’s endeared by her eager frustration, and moves them near the bed, pushing her lightly to sit down on the side.

“Me too, Scully. Me too,” he answers, kneeling in front of her and unbuttoning her shirt the rest of the way, then pushing it off her shoulders. The sight of her bulging breasts pushed up by her lacy black bra, rising with her unsteady breaths attracts his mouth before he even registers what he’s doing. He presses his face in between them, binds his arms around her ribs and kisses, tongues, sucks around until he’s moaning and out of breath. His hands reach back to undo the clasp and throw the bra behind him. He stops for a moment to take in the picture in front of him.

 _Fuck_. Her little pink nipples are hard as pebbles, his saliva dripping down slowly to meet them. Her defined stomach is rippling like a pond under the breeze, and he stretches his right palm over it—from thumb to pinky, he can cover her waist entirely. He slides both his hands up and mashes her breasts together, unable to decide which nipple to suck on first, so he flicks the tip of his tongue over both of them.

At that she releases a loud, low moan, so fucking hot that his cock throbs and he has to groan back. He was wrong before. _This_ is his new favorite sound.

“Fuck, Scully. You’re so sexy, I’m going crazy,” he says, undoing the side zipper on her skirt and quickly pulling it down her legs, taking the shoes off with it.

“Still wanna go slow?” she teases with a raised eyebrow, spreading her legs wide open, challenging him.

He does though, and damn if it isn’t tempting to just grab her hips and take her right there. But he can’t do anything but stare. He doesn’t answer her. Her smell, gliding in the air to meet his nostrils, makes him close his eyes involuntarily. He drops on his hands and knees and crawls up to her.

The inside of her upper thighs is glistening with arousal, her panties are soaked through, and when she writhes around impatiently he can _hear_ the squelch of her entrance fluttering around her juices. He massages her swollen labia with a thumb just outside the edge of her panties, gathering up her moisture, pressing down lightly to feel her inner muscles contracting under his touch.

Looking up into her eyes, he can tell he’s driving her insane. It's mesmerizing.

He brings his thumb to his lips to taste her, and _oh_ , it is divine. His tongue swirls, lapping around to cover all of his taste buds with her juices; she’s salty, she’s musky, she’s strong, and absolutely delicious. She has sweat sprinkled over her furrowed brow, some of her hair sticking to it. Her mouth is open and panting, and he’s not sure if she realizes that her tongue is poking out to rest on her lower lip.

That tongue calls out to him like a beacon, and he rises up to push his own inside her mouth, rolling around hers, sucking wetly at her lips, cupping and swaying so deep; showing her just what he can do, what’s waiting for her.

“You taste so good,” he whispers hotly, their lips all but mashed together.

She smiles. “You do too.”

He brushes her sweaty bangs out of her face. “You gave me the best damn blowjob of my life earlier, you know,” he tells her, and she grins but her face flushes bright red. _You beautiful thing, you._ He hooks his fingers under her panties and begins pulling them down, slowly. He presses their mouths together again, and tells her, “I want to repay the favor.”

Her whole body shudders and she closes her eyes. Her panties go the way of her clothes, and he’s ready to feast at her pussy, when she suddenly comes to her senses and pushes him away with a foot on his chest.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“You’re a little overdressed, don’t you think?”

“Oh!” He squeaks, and begins shedding his open shirt haphazardly.

“No,” she breathes, putting a hand over his wrist. “Stand up.” She looks down at his hard, hard cock. “Give me a show.”

He laughs huskily, never having realized his voice could go that low. He stands up and stretches his arms high up in the air languidly, enjoying the pull of his muscles and Scully’s eyes sizing him up. She slides up the bed until she’s lying down, brushing a hand over one of her spread thighs. Her fingers trickle up and his eyes follow, until she spreads her lips with her middle and index fingers.

He groans and squeezes his dick through his pants, at first just to get some relief; but seeing the way her eyes bulge, he strokes himself deliberately, circling the head, gripping the base tightly and shaking it a little inside his pants. “Fuck,” she mouths, and starts circling her sopping entrance with one finger. He can see from where he’s standing just how loose, how ready she is.

He teases himself—and her by proxy—by sliding a hand up his stomach, lifting his undershirt just enough to expose the hair on his lower stomach. He twists a nipple and they both moan, and they both grin after. When he whips off the tank top, Scully lets out a tiny sigh and begins stroking lengthy spirals over her clit, making his cock pulse with urgency.

He undoes his belt buckle, spearing her eyes with his, and shoves his pants and underwear down in one quick motion. Stepping out of them and, quick as he’s able, removing his shoes and socks—aware of how the motion makes his dick bob heavily in the air, he stretches his body up again, flexing his abs just a little for her benefit. _If_ _past Mulder could look at me now_ , he thinks with a smile.

“Holy fucking shit, Mulder,” she breathes with a laugh, stroking her clit wetly, wildly.

He grabs himself at the base, and walks up to the bed. “Hey, none of that,” he scolds in a stern voice, and she stops, biting her lip coquettishly. He strokes himself a couple more times, kneeling on the bed. He straddles her waist, and she moans when his dick lies upon her stomach. They both look down for a moment; the very tip of him reaches past her belly button. Fuck, he’s going to get so deep. He can’t wait.

Lifting her hands from her crotch, he twines them with his own and presses them to the bed. He bends down to whisper in her ear, “that’s my job.” With that, he kisses her madly, grinding against her, leaking all over her abdomen. He stops for a second to place his cock along her folds, covering her entirely and then some; he grinds, _hard_ , and she moans, loud.

She is _so_ wet, and he’s actively helping her make a mess on the sheets. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just slide in, and each time his head brushes her opening he has to resist the appeal of filling her up in one stroke. But he’s gonna be sooo gentle with her. The thought of everything he’s about to do to her makes up for the throbbing ache in his dick.

But maybe he can tease her just a little bit. On one downstroke, he slows down, pressing his head just hard enough against her entrance to slip inside.

“Fuck,” she shouts in surprise, panting like an Olympic sprinter. He grins, nudging her face to the side with his nose.

“I’m gonna take such good care of you, Scully,” he breathes in her ear, thrusting just the tip inside and out, his position teasing solidly the spongy meat at her pubic bone. He can’t help but moan; she’s gyrating frantically on him, arching her back so the thick head of his dick hits all the right spots. She’s so swollen, sucking him up inside so exquisitely, but not yet, not yet. He’s hungry and needs to eat first.

“Gonna make you come so hard,” he murmurs while moving his right hand to rub at her clit, kissing her collarbone, her sternum, sucking one nipple hard into his mouth. “’Cause you deserve it, Scully. You’re so good to me. I wanna make you feel just as good.”

He pulls out and the desperate whine that bursts out of her throat makes his balls tingle. He kneels back up, giving his erection a few hard strokes to ease the pain; her hips keep rotating under his hand, and he can see a bit of drool on the corner of her mouth, her pair of black and blue eyes running over his body lasciviously. Jesus, this woman.

He moves to kneel between her legs, filling his hands with her firm thighs, spreading them as far as they’ll go. “Wanna show you how beautiful you are,” he says, sucking on her tits some more, then kissing down her belly. “How much you turn me on.” His mouth reaches the precome that his cock wept all over her skin, and without hesitation he laps it all up, watching her eyes roll back into her skull.

He lies down on his belly, grinding his dick on the mattress, wiggling his hips a bit to rub it against his stomach. He’s positive he’s never been this horny in his life, this drunk with desire. He can’t take it anymore, and kisses his wet way down to her pussy.

 _There it is_. He spreads her apart with his thumbs and licks his lips in anticipation. Her scent is overwhelming, and she’s so worked up that he can see her clit twitching. Poor thing. He dives in.

“Mulder! Mulder, Mulder, ohh…” she groans, twisting his hair in her fingers. He’s seesawing the flat of his tongue over the length of her clit, sliding his hands up and down her clenched thighs in broad strokes, loving how she’s shaking all over in bliss. He strokes the tip of his tongue slowly down to her entrance and shoves it in as far as he can, grunting with the effort. Her legs move to clamp over his ears, but his hands press them apart forcefully, opening her up all the way for his pleasure.

His tongue undulates inside her strongly, curling up then squirming in tight circles, and he rotates his head to brush up against every patch of plump muscle he can reach. With every twist of his head, his nose brushes against her clit, and he’s getting out of breath but he doesn’t give a shit, eating her for all he’s worth; and if he has to suffocate in order to make her sound as heavenly as she does right now then so be it.

He does not suffocate, though. He comes up for air, watching her keening and twisting her hips in agony. She’s close, he can tell; all that teasing must have been torture for her. But he’s gonna make it all ok. He curls his two longest fingers inside her, clawing at her pubic bone, beckoning her orgasm to come, tickling her front wall in quick strokes.

Before he even gets his breath back, he sucks her swollen nub into his mouth and points his tongue, flicking up and down gently, building her up. Her hips sway to meet him with every push of his fingers, like she’s dancing to the rhythm he’s fucking her with. He can’t stop staring up at her. She’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen.

Out of nowhere, he has an epiphany. _This is what religion must be like_.

Her moans guide his movements; the louder she gets, the more her hips twitch, the harder he fucks her with his fingers. When he slips a third one in and laps ferociously at her, she shouts and comes so violently, he has to fling his left arm tightly around her waist to keep her still. He fucks her all through her orgasm, sucking on her fat clit and slamming his fingers inside, and it seems to last forever, the way she whines and cries out to him, to God. Fuck.

Her legs never stop shaking, but her breathing quiets down and he quits mouthing her clit, but keeps fucking her wet cunt with his fingers in lengthy strokes. He must be as wet as she is by now; he glares at her body intensely, never blinking so as to not miss a single breath she takes.

Her head drops down to look at him, a wide, satisfied smile spreading from ear to ear. “Mulder…” she whispers in awe, and the way she looks right now is so hypnotizing he doesn’t even remember to feel smug.

He’s past rationality now, grinding furiously against the sheets, sucking on her thighs, making bruises, placing kisses. “Mulder, get up here,” she tugs on his hair and he complies, crawling up to plunge his tongue inside her mouth, sharing with her the rich taste of her essence.

While they’re kissing, she grabs his cock and he hisses, loudly. She strokes him wondrously, and he can’t get any harder, he can’t, he can’t. He opens his eyes to find hers locked onto his face.

“What about protec--“ He starts, at this point sure about what she wants, but not wanting to assume anything anyway.

“No. I trust you. I want it like this.”

She guides him to her opening, and he feels himself falling deep into her blue gaze before sliding in.

It’s so, so tight, and so, so wet; he fights the impulse to close his eyes, searching her face for any signs of discomfort, but only seeing pleasure staring back at him. He hits her cervix but still has some way to go, so he angles his hips down and pushes further in gently, meeting no resistance, only sweet little vibrations of her walls around him.

When he finally bottoms out, he releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, groaning loudly with the effort of staying still. Her eyes are wide, frowning seriously, and that’s another look he can’t figure out.

“You okay?” he asks, kissing both her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

She giggles in a manic sort of way. “Yeah, yeah. Just… my God, Mulder. How in the fuck…?” she asks, disbelieving, and looks down.

“I guess I just prepped you up really nicely,” he quips, wrapping her legs around him and grinding his pelvis against her clit. She jumps, moaning sinfully in his ear.

“Move, Mulder.”

Can’t say no to that. He begins a lazy rhythm, slowly out and firmly in, staring at her parted lips, listening to her grunt with every thrust. He can’t take his eyes off of her gorgeous body. He looks at her bouncing breasts, squeezing one then the other, flicking his thumbs over her prickled areolas, round and round and round…

“Holy… fuck… Mulder, look down…”

Confused, he looks at her face first, and her eyes are wide and unblinking; he gets such a strong flashback of that day in the plane that he has to laugh. But she doesn’t react, and when he looks down, he knows why.

A number of factors are responsible for what he’s seeing. Her short stature, the flatness of her toned stomach, his undoubtedly large penis. But it looks so dirty, so wild, so fucking _brutal_.

With each heavy thrust, he can see her lower abdomen bulging up obscenely, his cock hitting so deep inside her it looks like it’s going to burst out. He speeds up, unable to help himself, sitting up and gripping on the backs of her knees for dear life, flicking his eyes from her face to the rising mound in her stomach to his wet dick, pumping in and out, clear liquid drenching his pubic hair.

She can’t tear her eyes away either, and slides her dainty hand down her body to place it atop where his tip rises up impossibly against her belly. She presses down when he thrusts up, and he can feel her fingers curling against him, and it makes him absolutely deranged with pleasure.

“Fuck, Scully… so tight… so good…” He feels so lucky in this moment, having his brilliant best friend under him while he loves her like this; watching her take him all the way in, so open, so easy, like they’ve been doing this forever. Her face looks even lovelier than he could have ever imagined—lips swollen from his kisses, skin pink all over. Whenever he slams into her and grinds their hips together her eyes roll back, mouth babbling obscenities in her honeyed voice.

Studying every little detail of her body closely had been the only thing keeping him from blowing his load; but he’s getting close, and wants to take her with him. So he pounds into her tight pussy harder than ever before, and she cries out, throwing her head back and her hands out to knead at his ass, digging in with sharp nails. Shoving into her so vigorously the bed slams against the wall, he sucks a thumb into his mouth and rubs her clit mercilessly, wanting to make her throat sore from shouting her pleasure.

“Don’t stop don’t stop please please don’t stop Mulder ahh…” She cries and he picks up the pace.

“Gonna come, Scully, fuck, I’m gonna come,” he throats out desperately, feeling her clench around him.

“Me too, Mulder, inside, come inside, come on…” Their heavy eyes meet and she comes, whining, thrashing, laughing, and watching her lose it like this gives him so much happiness; he feels so grateful to be the one able to give her all this pleasure. With strength he never knew he had, he grabs her hips and pushes her down on his cock, drives into her at a punishing pace through his orgasm, never wanting it to stop, slamming his eyes shut and chanting, _Scully Scully Scully_.

He stays kneeling after he’s done, head bowed down, cock tucked warmly inside her still. He runs his hands blindly over her soft thighs, moving her prone legs around like he can’t believe what just happened and touching her is the only way to confirm the reality of what they've done.

When he gets his breath back and gathers up the courage to open his eyes, Scully has the biggest smile he’s ever seen on her face, and he almost breaks down in tears at the sight. He collapses on top of her, careful to not crush her with his weight; this precious, beautiful woman. He lays his head atop her breasts and lazily kisses every freckle he can reach in his drowsy state.

Her hands tangle in his hair and he hears her sniffling. That sets an alarm off in his brain—he hadn't been so gentle after all—and he snaps up to look at her.

“Scully?” he asks, worried, her face streaming with tears but her lips still stretched in a dazed smile.

“It’s nothing, Mulder. I just feel really good. You’re so good. Can’t believe.” She hugs his head tightly to her chest, rubbing his shoulders. His stomach flutters, stars sparkling behind his closed lids. His arms hug her back tenderly.

“Told ya I was intense,” he mumbles, halfway asleep already. She places a long kiss on his forehead, soothing him with her breath, her scent, her touch.

He sleeps like that, joined with her, dreaming of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is nourishment. please comment if you liked this!!!


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